Middle Earth Solid: the Snipe Hunt
by Sephulbadis
Summary: Raiden goes far afield in search of the ever-elusive snipe! Don't mind the elf, he's just there for decoration.


Disclaimer: Raiden is Konami's thing. Legolas is Tolkien's thing. Neither is my thing, and it's probably best left that way.  
  
  
  
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"There's not enough room in Mirkwood for the both of us," growled the elf, arrow nocked and drawn.  
  
"Just try it, pointy." A stray breath of wind sent a few early autumn leaves skirling across the grassy space between the two, and made the other youth's near-white hair dance around a delicate albinoid face. From his right hand, a breathtakingly sharp high-frequency blade capable of deflecting bullets emitted a barely audible dog-whistle whine.  
  
It was over in less than a second. There was a sound not unlike the tearing of cloth, a keen before high-frequency passed well and truly into the ultrasonic, and a rustling hiss as arrow fragments decelerated in the grass.  
  
The elf stared blankly. Not even wizards could do –that-.  
  
"Now where'd the goddamned helicopter go?" Raiden rummaged around the midsection of his stealth suit for his binoculars—where'd he put the damn things? No, that was his SOCOM…that was a cardboard box…aha!—and scanned the treetops. Nothing. The chopper's whocking drone had passed out of earshot, to boot.  
  
"I mean it," Legolas protested. "Go away."  
  
Giving up on the binoculars, Raiden tucked the sword back into place and chewed a lip thoughtfully. There had been something decidedly odd about his placement drop, he knew it. And his CODEC wouldn't stop snickering the whole way. He'd had to turn it off.  
  
So here he was. In a forest far too idyllic for his tastes, out of cellular range of pretty much –everything-, and here was a skinny guy with pointy ears and leather pants shooting at him. With –arrows-. What a great way to spend a Thursday afternoon. He could have been watching Iron Chef or something.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, when the elf made no further attempts to kill him, or even a token effort at suggesting there was an evil conspiracy at work.  
  
"Legolas Something-Or-Other," said the elf self-importantly. "You are defiling these sacred woods. You must depart. You cannot linger."  
  
Raiden swatted irritably at a mosquito loitering near his nose. They didn't seem to be going anywhere near the elf. Come to think of it, there was a distinct odor of Deep Woods Off coming from somewhere nearby. "Do you have any idea where I can find a snipe? I can't head back without one. It's crucial."  
  
"A...snipe?" Legolas raised both platinum eyebrows in puzzlement. "We have no such creature here. Now, ah, depart these sacred…err…this sancti…no…eh…Just –leave-, would you?"  
  
"Snipe," repeated Raiden, poking a boot around in the underbrush. "Here, snipe. Here, snipe snipe."  
  
This was worse than orcs. At least you could –shoot- orcs. Legolas smacked a palm against his forehead.  
  
"You, ah, want a…-snipe-, was it?" he ventured.  
  
"Snipe, right." Raiden had hauled his binoculars out again, and was making a detailed survey of the forest canopy. Black birds, brown birds, red birds, blue birds, and tiny little yellow birds, but no snipes. The Colonel had assured him they were –very- distinctive. He hadn't mentioned what they looked like, unfortunately. Oh, well. Par for the course. At least they'd let him bring a weapon with him this time. Snipes were dangerous. The Colonel had said so.  
  
"I have one right here," the elf announced hopefully, proffering a hand. Raiden looked.  
  
"That's half a dried pear," he noted shrewdly. "With suede lint. You just took it out of your pocket."  
  
"Well, -yes-," Legolas admitted. Then inspiration struck. "That's what we call them, when they're like that. With the lint. Snipes. Mm-mmm, tasty snipes." Mentally, he congratulated himself. You didn't spend twelve hundred years –not- getting cleverer than the average bear, no siree.  
  
Raiden shifted from foot to foot. A dried pear? If he came back to HQ, armed to the teeth, with twigs in his hair and a piece of -dried fruit-, Rose would tease him for weeks. "I think I'm looking for something a little more…impressive," he explained. "Like something you'd need to shoot."  
  
Oh," said Legolas, desperately reconsidering. "You mean –snipes-. Right, right. LOOK, UP IN THAT TREE!" He pointed to a gap left in the foliage by a broken limb about twelve feet above Raiden's head.  
  
Raiden whirled, briefly attempting to target the binoculars to fire on the indicated spot. Some seconds of thrashing around with his suit brought the M9 to hand, which was promptly addressed at the gap. "Where? Where is it?"  
  
"Right up there! I know I saw one!" Legolas shaded his eyes theatrically, despite the sun being directly behind him. "It just went past!"  
  
"There's nothing –up- there," Raiden complained, puffing hair out of his eyes. He was trying to grow his bangs out, damn it, but there was that obnoxious intermediate stage where they got in everything…  
  
"I –saw- it," Legolas insisted, backing away stealthily.  
  
"There it is!" Three quick fires from the M9 sent a whut-whut-whut into the warm afternoon air. Legolas paused.  
  
"You…shot something?" He peered.  
  
"There it is!" Raiden pointed. "I need a stick." There was indeed a perfectly serviceable dead stick lying near to hand, and with it Raiden reached up between two thick boughs and levered out a dim, hairy mass. It landed with a soft mucoidal thump, and listed to one side. "There," he said proudly, poking at the bristly lump. It was approximately the shape and size of a half-deflated beach ball. It whuffled gently in its sleep. "Now, -that- must be a snipe."  
  
It was a not-quite-giant spider, actually, but Legolas wasn't complaining. "Snipe! Right! You got a snipe! Well done!"  
  
"I thought you said you didn't have any." Violating spatial physics more than once, Raiden re-stowed his weaponry and produced a moderate-sized cardboard box. In went the carcass. "Lucky day for me!"  
  
"We'll have to watch out for them," Legolas agreed gravely. "You'll, ah, you'll be leaving now?"  
  
"Yeah. Do you have a permanent marker and some electrical tape? You know, to keep it in there?"  
  
"Afraid not." The elf had started to edge away again.  
  
"Oh, well. This should do, anyway." Raiden patted his box proudly. Lucky day indeed, he mused. He hadn't had to drag any bodies around, dangle precariously under any walkways, or defuse a single explosive device. He'd probably even be back in time for Buffy! The nano-sensitive patch under his ear buzzed with a tap.  
  
"What's up, Jack?" It was Rose.  
  
"Rose! I've got a snipe. Send the helicopter back in to pick me up." Even the straight face on his CODEC animation couldn't hide the pride in his voice.  
  
"Sure thing. It should be there in a couple of minutes. Stay where you are. Bye, Jack."  
  
He stood, and waited. The box snuffled quietly, and occasionally tipped to one side or the other on the grass as its occupant shifted. In rather less time than he'd expected, Raiden heard the familiar monotonous chock-chock of the helicopter approaching. He couldn't help it: he grinned. The Colonel was going to be –so- impressed.  
  
  
  
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I apologize. Okay? I'm terribly sorry this story had to happen at all. It just did, somehow. I hope you aren't as alarmed or offended as I am. 


End file.
